


The Pillow Knight

by fraldariuwus (sakesword)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Battle, Childhood Friends, Cunnilingus, During Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Light Angst, Love, Masturbation, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, Sexual Content, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakesword/pseuds/fraldariuwus
Summary: Ever since Glenn's death, the only romance in Ingrid's life has been a stream of thinly-veiled threats from her father disguised as marriage proposals. Ingrid has never been kissed, never been courted, never been desired. She needs to understand why, even though she's started to put in effort, she never gets attention from men, so she asks the one person she feels comfortable to, Sylvain.A simple question leads to so much more.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 31
Kudos: 181





	1. The Pillow Knight

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a PWP oneshot, so chapter 1 can still be read as such, and is almost entirely smut. From chapter 2 onwards, there is an actual plot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is mostly smut, it's Sylvain so...
> 
> This fic is brought to you by champagne and me having access to Google Docs on my phone at work.
> 
> Takes place sometime after their A+ support, during war, Blue Lions Route. No major spoilers, but the state of certain characters post-timeskip is mentioned!

Ingrid has never been the belle of the ball, always the cherished friend and never the object of desire. Now a woman-grown, all she knows of a man's touch is the feeling of Glenn's lips on her cheek the day their betrothal was announced. Ingrid flushes as she brings her fingertips instinctively to the place she'd felt him all those years ago.

Is it the lack of makeup? She’s been trying to make an effort in that, at least. The devotion to her King? Nonsense, they all serve Dimitri, the rightful heir to Faerghus. Maybe she shouldn't have chopped off those long locks of golden straw. _ I'm not feminine, even Leonie’s hair is longer than mine. _

Typically she’s able to banish her introspective musings as she refocuses her attention on the things that bring her happiness. Dusty tomes of the Tales of King Loog, the silkiness of her Pegasus’ mane as she runs a curry comb through it, tea time with Mercedes, thankful smiles on her childhood friends’ faces when she helps them with whatever they’ve been going through. But today, she cannot silence the voice inside that tells her she isn’t enough. She needs to know why, and one of those precious friends will be the perfect person to confide in, but whom?

Dimitri? In the past, her liege would have been the first person she'd go to, but the prince hasn’t been himself lately. Ingrid had barely recognized him when she first saw him on the outskirts of the monastery that fateful dawn. Ever since the reunion of the Blue Lions, he's been brooding at the cathedral, refusing to talk to anyone. Even considering disturbing Dimitri to ask why men aren’t attracted to her makes Ingrid feel incredibly guilty. 

Felix? Sure, if she wants to be berated and belittled; meanwhile, not glean any actual insight into the situation. Felix’s words of “go find a husband” and “you're not meant to be a knight” already begin to reverberate in her mind. She shakes them off.

Sylvain is exactly whom to ask. He cares about this sort of thing, he’s even called her  _ beautiful  _ once before, though he probably said that to everyone. It’s afternoon when she finds him on a bench in the courtyard, armor-clad, with a pensive look upon his face. Just five years ago, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see him here, chatting up some anonymous girl. Ingrid is still adjusting to living amidst constant reminders of their school days at the Officer’s Academy.

“Ingrid!” Sylvain calls as he notices her.

“I'm surprised to see you alone,” she chides him, it’s the way she is used to interacting with Sylvain, after all they've been through together.

“The academy isn't what it used to be,” he grins, a hint of nostalgia flickering in his eye, “this used to be the perfect place to meet girls, but now I'm lucky if I even catch a glimpse of the professor out here.”

“In a way, I think it is better,” Ingrid says, “maybe you'll be able to focus on the important things in life now.”

“You may have a point there,” he sighs, “but I’ll never forget those peaceful days.”

“Sylvain,” Ingrid begins, “there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“I don't want to talk about it out here,” Ingrid hesitates to say, “it's somewhat... personal.”

“Oh, I get it!” Sylvain’s eyes light up, “Is this your first crush!? Who is it? Ashe? You know, I always thought you two would be cute together!”

Ingrid’s cheeks redden, “It's not that!”

“Okay, okay,” says Sylvain, “well, where would you like to go? I'd offer my room, but I don't want to give you the wrong idea.”

Ingrid pauses, considering their options. In truth, either her or Sylvain's room is the most discreet place she can talk to him, if they go anywhere else there is a good chance they'll run into other monastery personnel or their comrades-in-arms.

“That's fine,” Ingrid decides, “just don't try anything funny!”

Sylvain’s room reminds Ingrid of her own, same furniture, same layout, it is surprisingly clean for someone like him. Ingrid half-expects to find the bed disheveled, with crusty smallclothes strewn about the floor.

“It's neater than I anticipated,” she comments, “where are all of the trophies of your conquests?”

“Ingrid, you wound me,” Sylvain actually seems hurt by her words before his frown becomes a devilish smirk, “you think I'd keep that stuff out here? What happens when the next girl comes in?” He has it all planned out. So, he _ does _ have a collection somewhere… Ingrid blushes at the thought.

“So, what did you want to ask me?” Sylvain sits down on the right edge of his single bed. Ingrid finds a place next to him and takes a deep breath.

“I was just wondering...” she coaxes the words out of her timid psyche, “am I attractive?”

A confused expression appears on Sylvain’s face, “Ingrid, where is this coming from?”

“J-just answer the question!”

“Alright,” Sylvain says, “yes, you are attractive. You're beautiful, in fact.” Ingrid can’t stop the blood from rushing to her face.

“You're not just saying that?”

“No, I'm not just saying that,” Sylvain confirms, “any man would be lucky to have you.”

“Then, why didn't you ever try to court me?” Ingrid questions, “Throughout all of the years, after all of the messes I cleaned up for you...”

“Why didn't I court you?” Sylvain looks flabbergasted, “Any time I was so much as kind to you, you looked at me like I was going to devour you! A man knows a lost cause when he sees one, and I never wanted to not have you by my side.” Ingrid turns toward her childhood friend, noticing the sincerity in his eyes.

The years have been kind to Sylvain; in his custom armor, he is rather dashing, almost knightly. Since Ingrid has known him, she’s seen him transform from a snot-nosed kid to one of Faerghus’ most eligible nobles. She can’t help but admire his chiseled jaw and laughing eyes the color of the bergamot tea he favored. Sylvain’s hair has always been gorgeous, but he now wears it in a more manicured style that doesn’t look like he'd rolled out of bed minutes earlier. He is heir to House Gautier, with a Crest to boot. Upon initial inspection, Sylvain could nearly be described as  _ gallant _ . Ingrid can see why so many women fell for his attractive features and smooth talking.

“You know,” she thinks aloud, “this is the first time I've been in a boy's room. I've never even kissed anyone.” Ingrid's chest pounds when she realizes what she'd just revealed.

“Well, I'd be happy to be of assistance if you'd like me to,” he smiles that roguish smile, “especially after everything you've helped me with in the past.”

“Okay…” Ingrid’s voice trails off.

“Ingrid?” Sylvain eyes widen as if it is the last possible response he'd expect from her, “are you serious?”

“Y-Yes!” Ingrid works up the courage to say, “I trust you.” If it isn't going to be now with Sylvain, she can’t imagine the next time she'll have the chance.

Ingrid parts her light pink lips, closing her eyes as she waits to feel Sylvain.

The kiss is soft; Sylvain’s lips but brush against Ingrid’s, dragging them downward only momentarily before he withdraws. Ingrid gasps, wanting more, her whole body warmed by a single touch.

“Sylvain…” she mumbles.

He seems to have read her mind as he grasps underneath her jaw, drawing her mouth to his, lightly sucking in air so it takes her breath away. Ingrid grows hot as she inhales his somewhat zesty, vibrant taste. She feels her left hand push back on the bed so she pivots to now face Sylvain directly, noticing her handsome friend with a new lustful perspective.

“Is this really what you want, Ingrid?” Sylvain asks, “Are you ready?”

Ingrid gulps as she nods. Even if she isn’t, she knows Sylvain will treat her well. He’ll be chivalrous, even.

Unsure of what to do next, Ingrid closes her eyes, tilting her head up slightly and awaiting his touch. Sylvain obliges her, this time kissing her lips harder, then starting to nibble at Ingrid. She clumsily responds, pursing her lips.  _ Is this how kissing works? _

“Ingrid, you’re so sweet,” Sylvain breathes, “open your mouth.”

Sylvain’s tongue is slimy when it first begins licking at her, tickling the upper lip of Ingrid’s still-closed mouth. She eventually lets him in, first feeling him slide over her teeth before touching the tip of his tongue to hers. It is simple enough to rotate around Sylvain as he dives into her. Ingrid’s chest begins to heave as she realizes her desire, a sensation deep in her core reminding her she is human after all. Ingrid reaches a bracered arm out to stroke through tufts of fluffy red hair, then down along Sylvain’s masculine jaw before dropping to her side.

“Ingrid, do you want me?” 

Struck by the confrontational nature of his question, she almost denies it, but chooses to nod silently instead.

“Help me with my armor, and I’ll help you with yours.” Ingrid knows Sylvain is referring to their respective breastplates, the rest can be removed easily by oneself. Ingrid sets out to unbuckle Sylvain as needed before turning her back to him so he can assist her. The remainder of their armor comes off quickly and now both sit in their gambesons, leggings, and nothing else, armor scattered around the floor of Sylvain’s room.

“Sometimes I forget how dainty you are,” Sylvain is beaming as he admires his current partner, “seeing you fly high above me as you pierce the enemy with Lúin, it's hard to believe such a beautiful girl is wielding that lance.”

“You don’t need to flatter me,” she says, rolling her eyes, “I know you, Sylvain.”

“Sorry! Just instincts kicking in,” he laughs, “but you really are beautiful. In another world, you'd make the perfect princess. Now, I don't see any archers around, you can remove that underlayer of armor.” Ingrid blushes.  _ A princess? _ She's always identified with the knights of her treasured stories, but there is something comforting about playing the role of damsel.

“There are still buckles here for you unfasten, Sylvain,” she teases, surprised by how naturally the words flow from her.

“It would be my pleasure,” he smiles, “my lady.” Sylvain skillfully unbuckles the few contraptions that hold Ingrid’s padded armor together, before continuing to swiftly undo his own. Ingrid assists as he nudges down her sleeve, adding the gambeson to the pile of outerwear on the floor. Now she sits, clad only in her brassiere and leggings. Sylvain is shirtless, broad-shouldered and sinewy, his torso cross-hatched with thin white scars, his leggings perfectly delineate the cords of his thigh muscles.

_ Is this what a real man looks like? _

Ingrid blushes when she finds her gaze lingering at the place between his thighs.

“Hey, I'm not a piece of meat,” he teases, “come here.” Ingrid shudders at the contact of Sylvain’s arm around her bare shoulder, her core tightening as his lips meet hers once more. Ingrid doesn’t need to be told to open her mouth this time. Their hot, wet tongues circling each other at an increasing pace awakens a primal heat within her leggings that urges her to kiss him deeper.

Sylvain draws back, catching his breath, “Wow, Ingrid. I like this side of you.” Observing her lithe body, perky breasts contained by an unremarkable cloth brassiere, leggings worn high-waisted causing only the subtlest dimpling of her tight abdomen, Sylvain extends one of his calloused hands toward the linen currently hiding Ingrid's breasts. “May I?”

“Please,” she hears herself breathe.

With practiced dexterity, Sylvain unlaces the garment, eyes widening at the sight of her pink nipples, “You're even more beautiful than I’d imagined, Ingrid.”

“You’ve thought about this before?”  _ I knew it _ . Had he revealed this to her at any other time, Ingrid would have probably stopped talking to him, at least for a few days, but right now the thought of Sylvain fantasizing about her only increases her desire.

“How could I not?” Sylvain says, reaching out to palm her chest. Ingrid quivers as long fingers drag over the supple flesh before his hand jerks up to cup her aching breast in its entirety. She bites back a moan as Sylvain rolls her nipple between his fingertips. The sensation sends shockwaves through Ingrid, reigniting the flame low in her belly.

“Get on the bed,” Sylvain nudges her. Ingrid pivots, swinging her legs up off the floor. With Sylvain in pursuit, Ingrid remains upright for but a moment before he lunges at her. Feeling the weight of Sylvain’s warm body pressing against hers, muscular chest brushing past willing nipples, fulfills her. A shiver cuts through the heat as Sylvain’s tongue makes contact with her slight neck, hand wedging in between them to fondle her breast. Lifting her hands to rest on his strong back, Ingrid can’t help but vocalise the unexpected pleasure she feels.

“You like this?” Sylvain’s hot breath on her neck only deepens her lust. Ingrid can only mutter a sound of pleased confirmation. It is somehow enough to communicate what he should do next. Sylvain kisses her neck like he had her mouth, lips providing a sucking pressure as he twists his tongue. Ingrid surrenders, letting her arms fall onto the soft mattress.

“You’re gorgeous, Ingrid,” Sylvain whispers, “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Sylvain’s wet kisses transform to gentle pecks as he traces his way down from Ingrid’s neck, lingering along her collarbone. Each featherlight touch causes Ingrid's core to clench in nervous anticipation. His mouth had felt so good on her neck, can she even handle what might come next? When his lips finally reach the soft top of her breast, Ingrid fears she may snap in two.

“Just relax,” he reassures her, “enjoy it.”

Ingrid takes a deep breath, she  _ can _ handle it; she aches to know what it will feel like. Despite Ingrid’s eagerness, Sylvain takes his time, kissing both of her breasts everywhere but the nipples. Ever the tease, he knows exactly what he is doing to her. Ingrid raises her arm, feeling the smooth waves of his hair as she urges him toward the center of her breast.

“Alright, alright.” Ingrid’s entire body shudders as Sylvain obliges her with a single lick from base to peak.

“More,” she whimpers.

“What was that?” There is a smugness in his tone.

Rather than take the bait, Ingrid forces his head back onto her chest. Tingles cascade through her body when he finally begins to tongue her in earnest.

“Sylvain...” she groans as his tongue swirls around her aching peak, the heat within her smallclothes pulsing with each flick, “I want you.”

As he sucks, Ingrid slides her hands along her body, hooking her fingers under the waist of her leggings and nudging them down as best she can. Sylvain draws back, allowing Ingrid the necessary space to shimmy out of her offwhite leggings, revealing her dampened smallclothes. Ingrid moans as Sylvain’s swift fingers press the fabric against her throbbing core.

“You’re so wet, Ingrid,” Sylvain pushes up from the bed, hooking his arm around Ingrid’s shoulders as he lies down next to her, “Why don’t you show me how you like to touch yourself?”

Cradled in his muscular arms, her pussy begging to be touched, Ingrid feels comfortable enough to reach within the sodden fabric. She quivers as her hand passes over the blonde curls, fingers dipping beneath her folds to find the center of her pleasure. Slick coats Ingrid’s fingers as she prods, she’s never been wet like this before. 

“Don't be shy,” Sylvain says, grasping at her waistband. Ingrid raises her hips in response, allowing him to slide the garment so it now rests between her knees, “I want to see you.” She is now fully exposed, a state she’s never shared with anyone. Continuing to stroke the soaked nub, Ingrid notices the straining of Sylvain’s leggings as it sits flush against her thigh. She instinctively reaches her left arm out to trace it.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says as he tilts his head toward her chest again, licking her left tit so she moans even harder, “I’m here only for you.” Wet sounds emanate from Ingrid’s slick core as she slips a finger inside, the rotation of her hand causing some sweet juices to trickle out, pooling beneath her on Sylvain’s linens.

Her pussy is damp,  _ deep _ , the inside seems to expand, then contract as more liquid dribbles onto the bed. In truth, Ingrid has only done this a few times before, usually she became frustrated, forfeiting before she ever climaxed, only achieving a state of guilt from giving into such base desires. But, feeling Sylvain’s heat against her side, his hair tickling her neck as he sucks on her nipple, she knows something that feels this good can't be shameful. She knows she deserves this.

“Sylvain, touch me. Please.”

Sylvain mumbles a sound of agreement as he maintains suction on Ingrid’s breast, reaching his left hand over both of their bodies and swiping a finger from her inner thigh to slit, grazing past her mound. Ingrid shakes, moaning as he returns his hand to her, using more than one finger to stroke up along her folds. She grabs his wrist and urges it toward her, needing to feel something inside.

“If you insist,” he says as he thrusts two digits into her. He twists his fingers, pulling them out, then plunging them in just as Ingrid is about to beg to be filled again. She nearly cries out from the pleasure, but is silenced by Sylvain placing his mouth over hers as he starts to play with her nub. Index and middle curling inside her, thumb circling her clit, tongue swirling in her mouth, hard cock grinding against her thigh, Ingrid has never been stimulated like this before. 

The volume of liquid that has spilled from her aching cunt is no longer a concern to Ingrid as her own hand begins to twist at her now unattended nipple. Submitting to the intensity, Ingrid feels a stir within her that builds and builds. Jolts of warmth shoot up through her body, as a quake rumbles deep in her core.

“Come for me, Ingrid,” Sylvain whispers into her mouth as he picks up the pace of his thumb. She can’t hold back any more. With thighs shaking swiftly, toes curling, fingers digging into the sheets beneath her, Ingrid barely recognizes the sound she utters as her orgasm thunders through her. 

Her limbs are limp after such sweet release and for a moment, Ingrid drifts, euphoric, as if the mattress were a cloud.

Sylvain’s steady voice brings her back to Fódlan, “Did you enjoy that?”

She nods, her heart beats like a drum in her chest.

“Good,” Sylvain nuzzles Ingrid’s now-disheveled hair, resting his chin on her shoulder, “this is such a dream come true.”

Ingrid’s eyes trace the cracks in the stone ceiling, and she is silent for a moment as she evaluates what has just happened. She feels so adored lying in his arms as he gently strokes his hand from her hipbone to her waist, but this is  _ Sylvain _ , after all… Has she just fallen for his courtship routine? Get a girl in bed, whisper sweet nothings, have amorous congress, then break up with her when she wants something more; not necessarily in that order. She’s seen it time and time again,  _ dealt _ with it time and time again. Ingrid doesn’t want to be one of those girls.

“Sylvain-,” Ingrid needs to clarify what this is, now.

“Are you ready for more?”

“More?”  _ He really is insatiable. _

“I want to taste you, Ingrid.”

Ingrid’s core throbs when she hears his words, a part of her just wants to enjoy more of his attentive touch, she is already in this deep, but Sylvain’s level-headed best friend finally speaks up.

“Wait, Sylvain,” she begins, “You… You’re not just using me, right?”

“Of course not,” he reassures her, “Trust me, Ingrid, if I wanted a quick tumble, there are plenty of girls I could find. This is different, it hasn’t been about me at all. I wanted to pleasure you because I care about you so, so deeply.

“And, to expand on my response to your question earlier. I didn’t try to ‘court’ you because I respect you, as a friend, as a woman, and as a knight. It’s true I’ve used and been used by women, I was even spiteful to a lot of them, and it’s something I can’t take back, but there’s a part of me that finds solace in the fact that I never did that to you. And I never will. You make me better, Ingrid.”

Ingrid has known Sylvain long enough to know when he is being serious. The real Sylvain is so articulate, he’s so much more than the skirt-chasing philanderer the rest of Garreg Mach thinks he is. This side of him is what has kept Ingrid and Felix around throughout all of these years.

“Thank you for always confiding in me,” she speaks, eyeing the small white scars that line his body, before staring into his brown eyes, “thank you for protecting me.”

“I'll always be here for you.”

Sylvain kisses her deeply, and she almost floats away when she kisses him back. Though they have never expressed it in this way, their bond is eternal, and she knows she'll always be at his side. Their mouths move together so seamlessly that even after reading thousands of pages of tales of chivalry, Ingrid would never be able to explain it in words. It's just right.

“Ingrid,” he says, “so, are you ready for a rematch?”

Ingrid’s cheeks flush, does he really want to keep pleasuring her?

“Okay.”

“Make sure you are comfortable, go ahead and use my pillow.”

Ingrid scoots up the bed, resting her head on the fluffy pillow. Sylvain again kisses his way down her sweaty body so he lies at her mound.

“You don't need these anymore,” he says as he pulls her smallclothes fully off of her, Ingrid helps kick her feet out. “Spread your legs.”

Ingrid, as usual, does as she is commanded, exposing her pink, sopping cunt to Sylvain.

“So beautiful,” he sighs, “just relax, let me do everything for you.”

Sylvain licks up her inner thigh, then starts to lap at her folds. Already swollen with desire, Ingrid trembles at the initial touch. A mouth is so different from a finger, soft and wet meeting soft and wet, ripples of heat cascade from the tip of his tongue to throughout the rest of her being.

“You taste so good, so sweet.”

He continues, licking over her entire slit before finally testing her clit. As his tongue runs over the pink nub, Ingrid feels like she has been electrified. Heightened sensitivity from the orgasm she already had shortens the time it takes her to start feeling that familiar pulse. 

She can't stop herself from crying out, “Sylvain!”

“I love when you say my name,” he breathes into her folds, the hot air blowing over Ingrid's sensitive cunt causes her body to stiffen. The first brush of his tongue against her had been calm, timid even, but soon Sylvain increases the pressure as he licks. Ingrid echoes his caresses with moans of his name that seem to only encourage his relentless affection.

Suddenly, it feels different. Sylvain purses his lips around her throbbing clit, sucking on it. It’s almost too much to bear. Ingrid feels that low rumble within her again as more juices seep from her. She rocks her hips involuntarily toward him, savoring the contact of his tongue and lips.

“Come for me, Ingrid,” he repeats the phrase he said only minutes before.

Heat emanates throughout Ingrid’s whole body from the pleasure, she’s sweating, shuddering, sighing all at once. Sylvain licks a trail from her taint to nub, starts to suck again and Ingrid relinquishes the last of her control. The second orgasm is even more intense, waves of ecstasy flow through her as Sylvain continues sucking on her clit as she comes apart. Panting, throbbing, and sweating, lying in a pool of her own slick, Ingrid can’t believe that earlier today she hadn't even had her first real kiss.

The only word she can think of to describe how she feels toward Sylvain at this moment is grateful. Grateful for the way he made her quake, grateful for his assistance on the battlefield, grateful for the endurance of their friendship, grateful to have him in her life. She wants him to be grateful to her too, eyeing the still hard cock straining his leggings as he rises to sit up on the bed.

“Sylvain, do you want to…?”

“I'd love nothing more, but is that what you want?” He seems hesitant, “You might be too sensitive. I did a number on you.” She's grateful that he's concerned about her, but she knows she wants this.

“Yes, I want to try.” If there is one thing Ingrid isn’t lacking in, it’s resolve.

“Okay, but tell me if it hurts you. I'll go slow,” he says as he pulls off his crimson leggings and smallclothes, exposing his cock, “I'm kind of big.” Ingrid catches herself staring at it. She doesn’t have much of a frame of reference to compare it to, but she does have trouble comprehending how that length will fit inside her. It's darker than the rest of him, the pink head swollen, almost glistening in the dying sunlight that beams through Sylvain's window. She reaches out to run a finger over it.

Sylvain shudders, “I'll do anything for you.” He kisses her gently, Ingrid can taste herself on his lips. Sylvain drapes himself over her and she watches his muscular torso above her as he positions his cock at her entrance. Lowering his hand, he spreads her open so he can slide himself inside.

“Goddess, you're tight,” he breathes, almost shaking as he pushes deeper into her.

A fire burns as she is stretched from within. She tries to bear it, she wants it, wants to please him, wants to connect with him, but she can't control the squint of her eyes, the clench of her teeth.

Sylvain pulls out of her carefully, sitting up next to her, “I told you to tell me if it hurts you.”

“I-it’s okay,” she tries, “I'll be okay.”

“No, Ingrid. It shouldn't be like this. Trust me, I want to make love to you, but now isn't the right time,” Sylvain’s eyes shine with sincerity, “You're too sensitive, and I want you to enjoy it.”

She is disappointed, mostly in herself, she wants him so badly, wants to satisfy him.

“Don't worry. We'll have plenty of chances.”

“But, I want you to feel good...” she whimpers.

“Just stay there then,” Sylvain’s hand is gripping his shaft now, “let me take in the sight of you.”

***

Ingrid has been undone. She rests on Sylvain’s pillow, staring at him with emerald eyes as he strokes himself. He thinks about how her soft lips would feel encircling his cock, how she'd use her tongue on him; he'd probably have to coach her. Ingrid, who he's known for so long, is one of the most gorgeous girls he's ever seen. She’s so much more than those he usually bedded, she doesn’t just want him for his Crest or lands; she’s someone who he will always have in his life. 

He can’t deny how lucky he is, lucky to be born Crest-gifted as Sylvain Jose Gautier, lucky to have grown up around such devoted and talented friends, lucky to be alive after so many close calls on the battlefield, lucky to be with Ingrid as she gives him this privilege. He shudders as the side of his thumb brushes against the underside of the pre-cum dampened head.

The room is silent but for the wet sounds of Sylvain pumping his hard cock. She’s beautiful lying on his bed with her loosened braid. That flushed supple skin, those impossibly pink nipples atop perfectly-proportioned breasts, the pussy that has just been aching for him, those soft, soft thighs... Ingrid is duty, she is care, she’s innocence, the antithesis of his own reputation. She’s love. He wonders what she is thinking, she almost looks curious? Hesitant? He moans as he increases his pace.

“Can I help you?” Sylvain’s ears perk up at the sound of Ingrid’s sweet voice. She crawls toward him on the bed. She's always helped him, but this is nothing short of one of his fantasies come to life. Growing up with her by his side, it’s unavoidable that she has been a recurring character in his repertoire of masturbation material. But she's always been unattainable, the one constant that kept him grounded, even cleared up the wreckage of broken hearts he left in his wake. It makes him want her even more. Of course, he’s thought about her before; thought about how she would lower her mouth onto his throbbing cock, taking in the head, just like this.

“Ingrid,” he groans.

She purses her lips as he continues to pump into her mouth. Her plump lips and tongue bring him ever closer. Ingrid laps at him, small kitten licks that send tingles up his spine. She isn't an expert, but her mouth feels so good and her eyes are like jewels and her nipple brushes against his thigh, he's already close as he tangles the fingers of his idle hand in her golden hair. His hips rock him toward her, deeper into her mouth.

“Ingrid, I'm getting close,” he sighs as he speeds up the movement of his hand, “I'm going to come in your mouth if you stay there…” He doesn't  _ not _ want to defile her like that, but she's precious to him, he wants what she wants. Had it been someone else, he would likely have already finished in their mouth or on their tits.

“‘S okay,” she manages to mumble.  _ What did I do to deserve this? I'm seriously the luckiest man in the world.  _ Sylvain is tingling all over now, strands of Ingrid’s hair wrapped taut around his fingers.  _ This world isn't fair.  _ He’s so fucking close. Why can’t he just stay in the moment?

_ My Crest... _

He tries to stifle thoughts of his dead brother as he comes, hard, in Ingrid's mouth. He's breathing heavy now, watches Ingrid gulp down his seed. How many Crest babies are sliding down her throat anyway?

“Was that okay?” Ingrid’s voice is timid. Sylvain returns his gaze to her angelic face. She's staring at him so lovingly, she must be proud. Ingrid cuddles up to Sylvain and he wraps his arms around her. She’s so, so warm, her skin so soft. 

“That was perfect,” he strokes her hair softly. He’ll always protect her, even from himself and the darkness that seems to ever percolate in his heart.

Oh, to have actually just  _ been. _

To enjoy her touch like she seemed to have his. To let himself get lost in her. To be free of these chains, fastened at birth. Maybe this is just who he is, who he always will be, the curse of the Crest of Gautier. No, what he said before is true; Ingrid makes him better. If they are together, one day he'll be able to unravel the thread of guilt that binds him every time he finds himself happy.

One day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.
> 
> I really wanted to write something for Sylvgrid, I thought it would be short and light, but then this happened lol~. Might even add another chapter in the future!
> 
> I was listening to somber German jazz when I found myself in Sylvain's head toward the end and couldn't resist sprinkling in a little angst.
> 
> My Twitter is [@fraldariuwus](https://twitter.com/fraldariuwus)
> 
> Also, if you love Sylvgrid please check out my friend's [Sylvgrid Discord server!](https://discord.gg/SnJVK9V)


	2. Knight in Tarnished Armor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to just start off by saying thank you so much to everyone who commented on chapter 1, gave kudos, etc, and even showed interest in a sequel!!! I definitely wouldn’t have written this as quickly without you <3.
> 
> Warnings: blood/violence, smut, spoilers for Azure Moon route!
> 
> So, yeah, anyway, this thing has a story now! I’m going to go ahead and mark it incomplete!
> 
> This takes place one week after chapter 1, during Blood of the Eagle and Lion (ch. 17 of Azure moon)

Sylvain shouldn’t be here right now. Shouldn’t be intoxicated the night before a battle. Shouldn’t have rented a room at the inn after running into this old flame. Shouldn’t be grasping the blonde girl’s braid like reins while he pumps into her.

If he's hurting her, she doesn't say. One last fuck before The Blue Lions return to Gronder Field. Though her pussy is tight around him as Sylvain takes her from behind, his cock is only half-hard.

“I missed you, Sylvain,” her voice sounds so desperate.

Sylvain should be at the monastery. He should be training, should be going over wartime strategy, should be resting up so he won't be deadweight when he is needed. He should be spending time with his closest friends and allies. He should be with Felix. Sylvain should be with Ingrid.

Each time the girl moans, he hates himself more, hates her more. He hasn't been gentle, hasn't taken the time to get her off. He isn't even living up to his reputation as a good lay.

But just having access to him again seemed to cause the girl to swell with desire. The pattern is ingrained: make eyes from across the dimly lit tavern, approach with two glasses in hand,  _ lie. _ Sylvain can't think of a time he hasn't been successful adhering to his well-defined system. This method is particularly effective against those he's hurt before. Hurt just enough to leave them wanting more; to make them think they can be the one to change him, the one to finally reform the Gautier heir. He'll be the first to admit it's actually pretty twisted.

Almost as soon as he'd joined her in the worn booth, her hand wandered to where Sylvain's cock rest in his casual evening wear. It was easy to hook his arm around her shoulder and give her breast a quick squeeze, too easy to ask her if she'd like to go somewhere more private. She couldn't have hopped up from the seat faster if it were on fire.

She's just the warm body he needs tonight. Just the right features to stab him where it hurts the most. Let the wound bleed each time he notices that her hair colour is not a perfect match. That her figure is less toned, her thighs less trained as he feels them against his.

“I want to be with you,” she moans as he hits deep within her. Sylvain groans weakly at the feeling of her wet heat. As he thrusts into her, the plaiting of her braid is the only reason his cock hasn't simply wilted out of her yet. Sylvain gets harder as he envisions Ingrid's face, envisions how she’d look from this angle. Why can't he bring himself to wait for her? Why does he crave the despair he felt at the bottom of that well?

“Are you close?”

He expresses confirmation in the form of a grunt.

“Come in me, Sylvain,” she begs, “Please.” The right words, the wrong girl. It's always like this.

Of course  _ that’s _ what she wants.

Sylvain pulls out of her before he's unable to hold back anymore, settling onto his haunches as the cum splashes over his navel and dribbles down his defined abdomen. It’s pleasurable, but so, so empty; simply the conclusion to his process. More perfunctory than passionate.

“Let me at least help clean you off,” she turns over to face him, he hates the false care in her eyes.

“It's alright,” he says. The mattress creaks as he rises to find something to wipe himself, then relaces his breeches.

“You're not going to stay?” the girl pouts. Does she expect him to cuddle her after that pitiful performance?

“Can't. Have a battle tomorrow,” he isn't lying, “feel free to use the room, it's paid for, courtesy of Margrave Gautier.” Sylvain hates the part of him that revels in rubbing in the status she’s hungrily chasing.

He can’t bear to look in her green eyes as he finishes dressing, “Good night.”

He doesn't even try to win her over; doesn't call her beautiful. Somehow, maybe this is a step in the right direction. One flame that has likely been snuffed out for good.

Shutting the wooden door behind him, Sylvain descends the inn’s staircase and pushes his way through the still-bustling tavern. Happy patrons laugh, couples nuzzle beneath the ambient lighting, he wonders what lurks beneath their gregarious smiles.

Sylvain finally reaches the stables outside and mounts his horse, beginning his shameful ride back to the monastery.

*

Step one of his post-philandering ritual is to wash off the filth. Sylvain’s dapper clothes reek like a tavern as he removes them and steps into the men's bath. No one is around; he's the only one irresponsible enough to be awake at this hour on the eve of such a fated clash.

The hot water soothes his aching muscles as he leans back against the wall of the communal stone tub. He's done this countless times before, but there is something uncanny in the air tonight. The catharsis that the mineral-enriched spring usually provides eludes him. It never truly brings peace, but bathing typically silences his dark thoughts enough for Sylvain to be able to sleep.

His mind wanders, then settles to ruminate on Ingrid. Since she'd been in his bed one week ago, her visage has continued to haunt his thoughts. He'd held her all night, consumed by the softness of her skin, the whispered lilac scent of her golden hair… Sylvain was content to lose functioning capability the next day just to watch her steady breathing, to feel her heartbeat against his. It’s unnerving the way he has been feeling.

Ingrid had risen with the sun and quickly dressed, clearly distressed by what had happened between them. He had wanted to tell her she didn't need to be, that he would be there for her any time. That everything he said to her was true. But Ingrid was overwhelmed; to go from never being kissed to a trembling mess on Sylvain's linens… He can't blame her for needing some time.

What would Ingrid think if she knew what he'd just been up to?

It’s foreign to Sylvain to even consider a woman's feelings like this. Logic is his strong suit, he's never pursued anyone in a manner that couldn't be distilled down to resemble a series of chess moves.

Sylvain dries himself off and dresses, sneaking back to his room. He’s distraught by his compulsion to linger outside of Ingrid’s door. Thankfully, everyone seems to have gone to sleep at a reasonable hour. Their army is to depart before daybreak if they wish to reach Gronder Field by mid-morning. He really ought to get some sleep.

Sylvain strips down to his smallclothes, folding his evening wear and tucking it neatly in his drawer before settling into his bed. Though he has washed his linens, a ghost of Ingrid’s floral fragrance still remains. Sylvain tosses and turns surrounded by memories of the taste of her lips, the suppleness of her thighs, the sweet sound of her voice when she said  _ thank you for protecting me… _ Oh Goddess, why is he so hard? So much harder than he’d been earlier.

The fabric constraining him rustles as Sylvain reaches a calloused hand beneath to grasp the base of his shaft before beginning to stroke himself. Ingrid's pink lips, pink nipples, pink pussy. He picks up the pace. When he unbuckled her gambeson and unlaced her brassiere. How wet she was. The moment he felt her tongue on his cock. How she wanted to feel him inside her. It all really happened; why is he so determined to fuck it up? 

Sweat has begun to cling to his brow as the warmth within him builds. Sylvain uses his left hand to pull down the bed sheet covering him, the cold air of his room balances out the suffocating heat he feels within as he shimmies out of his smallclothes enough to free his precum-slicked cock.  _ Ingrid… _

His breath hitches when he pictures her gorgeous eyes, staring up at him as she took him in her mouth. The eyes he’s seen so many emotions in. Love, annoyance, despair, joy, grief, desire… always sparkling like gems, sometimes like a lush garden freshened by a summer rain. His heart is full when he thinks about her smile, the way she glows when enthusing over her hobbies.  _ Ingrid, you’re everything to me. _

Sylvain is nearly shaking as he comes, thinking about his beautiful friend, his beautiful lover. He doesn’t deserve her, but he wants Ingrid anyway. Will she have him, even though she knows how wretched he is? Will he even allow her to accept him? Allow her to love him?

*

The trek to Gronder Field is uneventful, no ambushes, no messengers bringing news that would divert Dimitri's army from its path. A heavy cloud of dread is all that looms over them. The scout they sent to procure the support of the Alliance was found dead, and so they may end up clashing with more than just the Empire. A reenactment of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion that occurred while they were students at the academy; except this time, lives are at stake rather than bragging rights.

Sylvain watches the graceful rise and fall of Ingrid's pegasus’ wings as she flies above Dimitri, Dedue, and Byleth at the vanguard. She really is a sight to behold, almost otherworldly, an angel capable of dealing swift death. Ingrid had probably found solace in steeling herself for this confrontation; whatever had happened between her and Sylvain would never be as important to her as serving Dimitri and saving Faerghus. She's a true knight after all.

“You're uncharacteristically quiet,” Felix’s voice interrupts his contemplation.

“Oh, huh?” Sylvain refocuses his vision to where the swordsman has been marching next to his horse, “just a lot weighing on my mind.”

“Don't let it affect you out there,” Felix's tone is like iron, “just focus on what you need to do. The sooner we get to Edelgard, the sooner we win. We'll be able to mitigate some of the bloodshed the Boar keeps calling for.” Dimitri doesn't even bristle at Felix's words, just keeps marching with purpose.

Their army finally reaches its destination. From the hill on the Northern edge of Gronder Field, Sylvain cannot stop himself from scanning the plain’s layout. Having a panoramic view is an excellent advantage; the battlefield can be considered like a strategy board game. The most important features of Gronder Field are the three bridges that may be used to cross the river rushing horizontally through it, the ballista at the center, and the thicketed wood on the East where any sort of assailants could hide. As Sylvain’s gaze travels westward he shudders at the sight of what is likely more Crest monsters, hand clenching into a fist.

Ingrid and Sylvain both dismount before The Blue Lions begin to descend the slope that leads to Gronder Field. 

“Everyone gather,” Dimitri commands, “Professor, if you will.”

“Our first objective is to take the central platform and control the ballista,” Byleth begins to speak, “Edelgard lies in wait to the Southwest. Felix, you are to lead Ingrid and Sylvain to the West and cut a path along the flank of the platform. The Alliance has gathered troops to the East, it'd be best not to confront them, if possible. Dimitri, Dedue, and I will stay with the others and we will capture the center.

“Once victory is assured, Dimitri will rendezvous with Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix. I'll leave the four of you in charge of dealing with Edelgard, while Ashe, Annette, and I halt the Alliance. Mercedes, stay out of harm's way, we're relying on you. Our goal is to defeat Edelgard, by any means necessary.”

“Edelgard’s head will roll,” Dimitri hisses.

“It may come to that,” Byleth admits, “does everyone understand the plan of attack?”

A round of  _ yes, Professors _ sounds as their army separates into the proposed configuration. Ingrid and Sylvain guide their mounts behind Felix, stopping to stand at the entrance to the westernmost bridge in a triangle formation.

“Can I help you up, Ingrid?” Sylvain nearly recoils at the sound of neediness in his voice. It’s not the first time he’s asked to assist her like this, but he’s usually accompanied it with a wink, only trying to get a rise out of her.

“I know how to mount a pegasus,” she rolls her eyes, “but if you insist.”

Ingrid is so light, even in his plate armor, Sylvain barely strains as he lifts her. Once she sits comfortably ahorse, he returns to his own dark-haired steed. Ingrid seems to be intensely focused on the coming battle, gripping Lúin in her right hand. Sylvain should probably ready the Lance of Ruin which is currently still in its rest. 

With his two best friends in the world by his side, each wielding a legendary relic, the gravity of today’s conflict finally begins to dawn on Sylvain. This is the type of battle songs are written about. This is life or death. This is Fódlan’s future.

“Stay close to me, especially while the ballista is still out of our control.”

“I will,” Ingrid’s small smile warms him. She looks so beautiful with her verdant eyes and matching ribbons fluttering in the breeze. What if this is the last time he can be next to her, his last chance to  _ feel _ her.

Suddenly, Sylvain’s eyes are drawn to fireballs from Edelgard’s mages raining down on the field in a display of dominance. Dimitri immediately begins an unheralded charge in response, “Kill every last one of them!”

“Stupid boar!” Felix lopes across the bridge after Dimitri with the House Fraldarius soldiers following close behind. Ingrid's pegasus begins to spread its wings.

“Wait, Ingrid,” Sylvain says as he finds himself spurring his horse to trot close to her so his steed’s metal armor almost brushes against her Pegasus’ mane. Sylvain can’t stop himself from leaning over, placing his arm around Ingrid's waist and pulling her into a kiss. He drowns in the sensation of her pink lips against his, they’re just as soft as he remembers, her hair smells just as sweet. He swears he can feel her almost kiss back as Ingrid lingers there for a moment, jade eyes wide and cheeks rosy.

“What are you doing?” she tilts back in the saddle, “you almost made me drop Lúin!”

“I just…” he sighs, “I needed to do that.”

“It's not the time,” her adorable face is almost scarlet. She averts her gaze to the battlefield ahead of them, “We must advance!” Ingrid's pegasus vaults over the small river, taking to the sky. Their respective battalions pursue as Sylvain grasps his lance and kicks his warhorse to gallop after them. 

A few corpses already lie in Felix’s wake as Sylvain pushes through the mass of soldiers to assist him in engaging an axe-wielding brute clad in imperial armor. Sylvain charges on horseback, gouging the pronged edge of the Lance of Ruin into the man’s under-protected abdomen. The man slumps to the floor when the lance is wriggled, then pulled from his core, blood pools a deep garnet on the grassy field beneath him. Will Sylvain ever get used to this?

“Finally decided to make yourself useful,” Felix remarks, stepping toward a near-identical man, swinging his blade to slash through flesh and bone like water. The brute's knees buckle and his torso falls face first into the ground as his body is cleaved in two.

Ingrid is a few yards ahead, her pegasus dives at a mage toward the Empire’s back lines. The three friends progress ever closer to the large Creststone abominations seething in their path. Sylvain can only think of Miklan… Every time he wields this lance, every time his Crest activates…  _ Who were you before this war? _

They need to clear the first snarling monstrosity, put it out of its misery. Felix slashes at the reptilian giant. Shrapnel from the debris chucked at Felix in response grazes against Sylvain’s cheek. Blood drips from the wound, dotting his horse’s dusk armor with crimson.

A gambit is what is required in order to debilitate the suffering former-man. As if summoned, Ingrid and her battalion of pegasus knights charge, piercing through the monster’s armor to weaken it substantially. A rage takes hold of Sylvain as he charges at the beast and all it represents. He relishes in the pain of the monster as he punctures its hide with his lance. The powerful combination of the Lance of Ruin and Felix’s expert swordsmanship cause the creature finally let out a harrowing cry, the earth rumbles beneath the three friends as it crashes to the ground.

Felix turns his attention to Hubert who is to their right. Edelgard’s chief advisor is a force to be reckoned with, but once Felix gets within striking distance he'll be as good as dead.

Amidst the chaos, a conflagration erupts on the platform. Billowing smoke causes Sylvain to choke as he turns to see what is probably Ashe’s smallish figure loading a bolt into the ballista. Byleth and Dimitri appear to have been successful in executing the first step of their plan. Sylvain is suddenly overcome by a calming burst of white magic; the few hit by flames must have been injured significantly, Mercedes doesn't use her massive healing spell often. He can't tell if anyone is down through the fire and plumes and decay.

Sylvain kicks his horse, urging it to canter in Felix’s direction. Where did Ingrid go?

As he scans upward to find her, his eyes follow a loosed arrow’s trajectory. Sylvain grits his teeth as he watches it arc across the cloudy sky, just barely overshooting the flank of a pegasus; the Empire must have bowmen toward the rear. He refocuses on backing up Felix against Hubert.

Unsurprisingly, when Sylvain can finally decipher the status of Felix's assault, Hubert is bloodied. The mage’s hands move in an arcane pattern; Sylvain quickly recognizes it from his studies with Annette as a teleportation spell and spurs his horse’s canter to a gallop to intercept him, “Don't let him get away!”

But it's too late. The Lance of Ruin only pierces through a puff of purple smoke as Hubert vanishes. Felix and Sylvain both cough when they inhale the noxious fumes of dark sorcery.

“Coward,” Felix spits, wasting no time pivot on his back foot and sprint deeper into the fray toward where Edelgard is garrisoned. Sylvain has no option but to wheel after him. He can almost make out the silhouette of the pint-sized Emperor’s vermilion armor in the distance. He must push on. They must finish this, once and for all.

His single-minded pursuit of Felix is suddenly interrupted by a eardrum-shattering whine from a Pegasus above. 

No, it can’t be. Can it?

Ingrid?

“Ingrid!” The fletching of an arrow sticks out from where it is embedded in her pegasus’ neck, the white hair stained a deep ruby by the blood that gushes in waves from the puncture. The majestic beast begins to fall from the sky, the thrust of its powerful wings dampening to a weak flutter before it crashes to the earth. 

Edelgard no longer exists. Dimitri no longer exists. Felix no longer exists. The world around Sylvain is white, only Ingrid’s scream rings in his ears as he leans forward so the steel of his breastplate nearly clangs against his horse’s armored neck as it gallops toward where she has fallen.

The pegasus is bleeding out, its chest heaving as it utters its final cries. Sylvain vaults off his own mount when he locates Ingrid’s body lying prone in the dirt. He runs as fast as his steel greaves will allow him, until he’s at her side, crouching down, nudging her gently to lie on her back. Sylvain breathes a sigh of relief when he notices the rise and fall of her chest.  _ This is my fault, isn’t it? I let her out of my sight. _

“Ingrid,” he pulls a vulnerary from the pouch on his hip, “drink this.”

“Sylvain?”

“I’m here,” his heart clenches when he witnesses the dullness in her half-lidded eyes.

“It’s okay,” she chokes out the words, “this… is… how it was for Glenn.”

“Ingrid, I won’t let you die,” Sylvain wedges his arm under Ingrid’s back, tilting her enough so the potion can slide down her throat. It won’t bring her back to full health, but it’ll be enough to numb some of the pain for now. Ingrid gasps as she finishes the healing tonic.

Sylvain lifts Ingrid, one arm under her knees, the other around her back, carrying her to his horse, “I’m taking you to Mercedes, can you get onto my saddle if I help you, just like before?”

“I think so…” her voice is nearly a whisper as she nods.

Sylvain uses all of his strength to lift Ingrid’s frail body as high as he can. Once she’s mounted, Sylvain joins her, gripping the horse’s reins and giving it a swift kick, “Hold on.”

Sylvain’s valiant steed tramples over the corpses of friend and foe alike, progressing toward the singular goal of delivering Ingrid within the range of Mercedes’ healing abilities. He skewers the few enemies that dare to stand in the way of his lance without hesitation.

Mercedes is worth her weight in gold and more, for almost as soon as Sylvain reaches her, he can feel Ingrid’s embrace tighten around his waist. Her strength has somewhat returned, though she will likely still need a few days to recover after this battle.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Sylvain just wants to stop his horse then and there and hold her. The thought of losing Ingrid almost destroyed his world. He doesn’t even want to ponder what type of person he’d be without her. “Ingrid…”  _ I love you. _ He’s said those words so many times and not meant them that they don't immediately register to him as the way he feels. “I’ll protect you, no matter what.” Sylvain knows that much is true.

After the haze of adrenaline clears, Sylvain realizes he has no idea what has even occurred since Ingrid fell. Where’s Felix? Where’s Dimitri? Where’s Byleth? Did the Alliance retreat? All that matters is the way Ingrid still clings to his back.

When Sylvain finally reaches where Edelgard once stood he sees Dimitri and Byleth, a teal-caped figure lies beneath their feet, red blood rushes from a wound between its shoulder blades. Is that…? Oh no. Rodrigue? What happened? A small pigtailed girl is to his left, bleeding or bled out. The professor's Sublime Creator Sword drips sanguine fluid onto the earth.

Where is Felix?

“Rodrigue?” Ingrid's weak voice sounds behind him. They've both known Rodrigue since they were children. He's Felix's father,  _ Glenn's _ father. He'd been a part of Ingrid's life since birth; he was to be her father-in-law. The five of them, Dimitri, Felix, Glenn, Ingrid, and himself had spent countless hours playing knights around Rodrigue’s feet at the Fraldarius manor.

Sylvain remembers snowball fights, birthday celebrations, even dances held within those stone walls. They all followed Glenn around, especially Ingrid. Rodrigue always had a happy smile when he saw the connection between his eldest son and his betrothed. After seeing Ingrid fall, after believing she may be dead, Sylvain can finally somewhat understand how it must have felt to lose someone she loved so much. He can’t help but feel guilty for everything he has put her through, when her heart must have ached for so long. He will never replace Glenn, and he doesn’t want to, he just wants to ease her pain, just wants to be there for her; he has to change.

Sylvain finally eyes Felix, standing off to the side, facing away from the grisly scene. Felix is even more alone now, a second Fraldarius has given his life as shield of Faerghus. 

“I won't let his death be in vain,” Dimitri must be shattered as well. Rodrigue had sometimes acted more like Dimitri’s father than Felix’s, even in his last moment. Sylvain is surprised Dimitri hasn't already set out to storm Enbarr by himself, maybe it’s due to the way the professor's hand rests on the prince's shoulder.

“Carry the dead,” Dimitri’s command reveals internal rage tinged with utter despair, “we'll bury Rodrigue at the monastery until we can safely return his remains to House Fraldarius.”

Sylvain can feel Ingrid trembling behind him as she cries. He reaches up to hold her hand gripping his waist, “Don’t ever let go.”

***

The dark edges of the stone blocks that form the ceiling of Ingrid’s dormitory become delineated as she opens her eyes. Ingrid’s back in her soft bed at the monastery, though she can’t recall exactly how she got here, she’d been so faint on the return journey from Gronder Field. 

“Good morning,” Sylvain almost startles her, “well, actually, good afternoon.”

Ingrid flicks her gaze in the direction of his voice, Sylvain sits on a wooden chair next to her bed, his eyes stare at her intently, there’s a cut on his cheek he hadn’t had before yesterday, “How? What happened?”

“We brought you back, you've been sleeping ever since. You even dozed off for a bit while we were on my horse. I had to carry you the rest of the way.”

“Oh.” That's right. The battle. Sylvain rescued her, but they weren’t able to save everyone.  _ My pegasus… Rodrigue… _

“I'm so happy you're okay,” Sylvain’s concerned expression conveys the depth of his worry, “I almost thought I lost you out there.”

“Me too,” tears begin to well in Ingrid's eyes as she ponders never being able to see her cherished friends again, never being able to see Sylvain, how she won’t ever see Rodrigue or Glenn, how she’ll never ride the same pegasus again.

“Don’t cry, beautiful,” Sylvain reaches out to wipe the tear that has slid down her face, “it’s okay now. I’m here to take care of you.” Ingrid takes a deep breath. “Do you need anything?” he asks, “Mercedes gave me some more vulneraries; they won’t completely fix the pain, but they may help manage it. Also, if you're hungry, Felix brought some smoked meat for you.”

Despite her sadness, Ingrid's stomach rumbles at the mention of delicious food, “I am actually pretty hungry.”

Sylvain laughs, “I'm not surprised, you haven't eaten since yesterday morning.” Ingrid can't remember the last time she went so long without eating. “I don't want to rush you, but do you think you’ll be able to get up to eat?”

Ingrid attempts to rise from the bed, but she feels like she’s been hit by a carriage. She is unnerved when she remembers the way the ground came up to meet her when she fell from the sky. Luckily, she wasn’t flying too high when the arrow hit, but Ingrid is weak, she’d only been able to hold onto Sylvain before due to the sheer adrenaline pumping through her veins.

“Sylvain, I can't,” Ingrid is frustrated by the helplessness in her whimper. It’s going to be days until she can train and be of use to Dimitri again.

“Just stay there, I have an idea,” he says, “if you can lift your head, I'll help you sit up.”

Ingrid follows Sylvain’s gentle suggestion as he shifts her pillow to rest against her headboard. Her heart beats quickly when she feels Sylvain’s forearm underneath her knees as he cradles her the way he had on the battlefield. She realizes she’s dressed in only her nightshirt and smallclothes… when had that happened? He doesn’t linger with her in his arms, though a part of her wishes he would. Sylvain places Ingrid back onto the bed as if she were a porcelain doll so she can comfortably sit up against the pillow, “I’m becoming skilled at picking you up.”

Ingrid blushes; just how many times has she been in his arms this past week? For just how many reasons?

The chair creaks as Sylvain stands up to retrieve the plate of food Felix brought. Ingrid can’t stop her lips from curling into a smile as she realizes that this is probably the most loving act Felix has ever done for her. But her smile soon twists into a frown when she considers what he must be going through, another familial death in the service of House Blaiddyd, “How's Felix…?”

“You know him,” Ingrid can hear the hopelessness in Sylvain’s voice, “just focus on getting better for now. I’m sure Felix’ll come see you soon, he wouldn’t want you to expend energy worrying about him.”

“Okay…” she knows she won’t actually stop worrying.

Ingrid almost starts drooling when she notices how high the plate Sylvain returns with is stacked with meat and smells the smoky, savory aroma. The delectable fragrance fills her nostrils as Sylvain stabs at a slice of jerky with the fork, pushing it toward Ingrid’s mouth. 

“I’m not an infant, Sylvain!”

“I'm just trying to help you,” Sylvain looks dejected. Ingrid didn’t mean to snap at him, has he really been by her side all night? Maybe she’s just incredibly hungry.

Ingrid instantly feels at ease when she opens her mouth and accepts the meat, biting down on it before Sylvain withdraws the silver fork. The umami flavor and the leathery, yet tender texture of the jerky overwhelm her senses, especially after not eating for so long. She closes her eyes as she indulges, unable to stop herself from smiling wide and mumbling  _ mmmm _ . This is one of Ingrid’s favorite activities in the world.

She finishes the first slice quickly, blushing when her stomach growls audibly soon after.

“Do you want more?”

Ingrid is embarrassed to say yes, to willingly show Sylvain the gluttonous side he’s teased her about so many times before. She can’t believe she even let him feed her  _ one _ strip of jerky while she’s sitting injured in bed.

“It's cute how much you like eating,” Ingrid’s cheeks flush as she notices how Sylvain is beaming at her, “I'll feed you as much as you like, Felix brought a lot as you can see. I can go get some more too. Or if there's anything else you want from the dining hall…”

“Maybe a few more pieces…” she concedes, darting her eyes away from him. The plate is nearly clear when Ingrid’s hunger is finally sated, “thank you.”

“Any time.” There’s a comfortable silence between Ingrid and Sylvain as they stare into each other’s eyes. Ingrid’s focus is drawn to Sylvain’s honey-hued irises, she never noticed the glint of the freckles scattered throughout. Her core feels warm when she sees Sylvain’s cheeks are almost as rosy as hers. “Can I kiss you, Ingrid?”

“I probably taste like meat right now,” she deflects.

“I don’t care,” Sylvain’s gaze pierces through her, “it’s you.”

Ingrid’s heart throbs as she utters, “okay.”

Sylvain places the plate on the floor and leans over from the wooden chair so he just reaches Ingrid’s lips. Every time Sylvain kisses her, it’s like she’s paralyzed, in limbo for a moment, lost in the soft sensation, lost in her own heart.

Who would Ingrid be without Sylvain? What would she do without him? What will happen when the war is over? Would they ever repeat what they’d done just one week ago? That passionate tryst seems so far away after what they’d just gone through.

Sylvain and Ingrid have always fought side by side, but yesterday’s battle was the first time Ingrid actually needed to be saved. She is prepared to die for Faerghus, to take her place next to Rodrigue and Glenn, to meet them in the afterlife. But there’s something inside of her that wants to cling to Sylvain for just a bit longer, the same thing that allowed her to hold onto him despite her weak state as he rescued her on horseback. That same ache that causes to savor the touch of his lips, to explore the depths of his eyes, to concern herself with what he thinks of her, to see the good in him. Though Sylvain has never been known to be chivalrous, his actions when he’s been needed have shown there is something knightly in his heart… beneath all of the self-loathing and self-destructive tendencies, there’s someone who really cares about her. Someone she can’t imagine life without. 

“Hey, Ingrid,” Sylvain pulls back from their chaste, yet overpowering kiss and places his hand on hers. There's something so comforting about the way he grazes the tips of his calloused fingers over hers, stroking up to Ingrid's wrist. Sylvain has a contemplative look upon his face.

“Sylvain?” 

“I just want you to know I’m here,” Ingrid hears the breath he takes before continuing, “I want to be here for you forever.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

Before Sylvain can answer, there is a gentle knock at Ingrid’s door.

“Sylvain?” Mercedes kind voice sounds from the hallway, “is everything okay? May I come in?”

“Please do, the door is open.”

“I’ve brought the salve,” Mercedes steps into Ingrid’s room carrying a large pouch, then pulls a cylindrical metal container from within and sets it on Ingrid’s desk, “sorry for taking so long, I realized I’d nearly run out of this one, the ingredients are somewhat rare and it’s particularly effective for speeding up the healing process, so I end up using a lot of it.”

“No problem, Mercedes,” Sylvain says, standing to retrieve the salve, “thank you so much.”

“Do you know how to use a salve like this, Sylvain?” Mercedes asks, “it needs to be applied topically. The more areas you cover, the more effective it will be. It’ll tingle a bit when it first touches your skin, but it will subside and you will feel good as new.” Mercedes turns to Ingrid, “would you like me to apply it for you, Ingrid? Or are you comfortable with Sylvain doing it?”

Ingrid’s face is hot; it’s one thing for her to admit she likes being touched by Sylvain to herself, but to a third party it just feels scandalous.

“I don’t mind,” Sylvain says as one would expect him to, “I just want to help.”

“That’s fine,” Ingrid knows Mercedes isn’t judgmental, but she still can’t believe she said that aloud.

“Okay,” Mercedes’ smile could melt anyone’s heart, “you don’t need to use too much, just aim for a thin layer.”

“Thanks again, Mercedes,” Sylvain sounds truly appreciative.

“Any time,” she says before exiting Ingrid’s room, “I will be around if you need anything else, just come to the cathedral.” Her sapphire eyes turn to Ingrid, ”I hope you feel better, I’ll be praying for a swift recovery.”

“Mercedes is the best,” Sylvain sighs before he returns Ingrid’s bedside with the salve in hand, “hmmm… how to do this? Why don’t we test some on your hand first?”

A medicinal, almost minty aroma fills Ingrid’s room as Sylvain unscrews the lid of the container. His fingers emerge coated with a clear ointment. Sylvain presses a small sample onto the back of Ingrid’s hand. There’s a cool, tingling sensation that does seem to mute the soreness she has been feeling all over.

“Does that feel okay?”

“I think so,” Ingrid replies.

“Great,” his tea-colored eyes light up as he begins to pull the bed sheet covering Ingrid’s lower body down.

“What are you doing?”

“You can’t get out of bed and I need to be able to apply it somehow,” he explains, “is there a particular area that hurts the most?”

_ Everywhere _ . The way Ingrid feels isn’t much of a sharp pain, but more of a steady ache. The fall has taken so much out of her, “My back.”

“It’ll probably be easier if you can scoot down the bed a bit, I can help you,” Ingrid feels the cloth of Sylvain’s white button down shirt on the back of her arm as he takes the place of the pillow she’s been sitting up on.

He leans her forward slightly, lifting the back of her shirt with his left hand so his right can draw circles over her shoulder blades, applying the chilling remedy. Tingles cascade from the places Sylvain strokes over deliberately as he makes sure each inch of Ingrid’s back is covered, from the tips of her fingers to the nape of her neck. To her surprise, she has already begun to feel much better, “I think it’s working.”

“I’m glad. Do you think you can stay sitting up without me here?” he asks, “I want to get your front.”

_ Front? _ Memories of those places he touched before come back to Ingrid and she can’t stop herself from blushing, “I’ll try.”

The salve is quite effective and Ingrid is able to remain upright towards the center of her bed. Sylvain considerately puts the pillow to support her lower back as he rises to face her directly, before settling on his knees in front of her, “Do you mind if I remove your shirt?”

Ingrid is caught off guard, “You can’t just apply it from underneath?”

“Do you really want me to do that? I’ll just be following my instincts then,” he pauses for a moment smiling to himself, Ingrid just  _ knows _ what he must be envisioning, “I think it’ll be better if I can see what I’m doing. Plus, your shirt is going to get coated in this stuff.”

“Fine,” she sighs. 

“Don’t worry, I just want to take care of you. Let me treat your arms first so you can raise them for me.” The ointment squishes when Sylvain dips his fingers into the container, he then begins to massage the front of Ingrid’s right arm, before switching to the other. Ingrid tenses when Sylvain’s fingers graze past the bottom of her belly as he hooks them under her nightshirt.

Goddess, if she weren’t injured where would this be going? The linen of her top catches on Ingrid’s nipple as Sylvain pulls it over her head. She sees the way his eyes widen when her shirt is removed and averts her gaze.

“You’re so beautiful.” Ingrid can’t help but blush every time he says it.

“Stop ogling me,” she crosses her arms in front of her breasts, “I thought you were here to help.”

“I’m sorry, it’s true though,” Sylvain gathers more of the salve, “no need to be shy, nothing I haven’t seen before.” His words just make Ingrid more flustered, but she resolves to drop her arms to the side. Ingrid quivers as Sylvain slides a finger in a straight line from her sternum to the bottom of her stomach. He traces from her waist to along each of her hip bones, Ingrid remembers the feeling from when he held her before, though this time it's a cooling caress rather than pure heat. “Maybe Mercedes should have done this, after all. I can’t say I’m not enjoying touching you.” Ingrid’s eyes find the tented fabric between his thighs.

“Sylvain!” she admonishes him. Though she protests, Ingrid can’t deny it feels nice to be wanted, to have his attention solely on her body. “Maybe I can take care of the rest myself.” 

“Allow me, there are a few areas I’ve missed,” Ingrid nearly moans from the cooling effect on her sensitive skin when Sylvain boldly swipes his finger along the side of her breast.

“I don’t think Mercedes said to use it like that…”

“Yeah, probably, but I wanted to anyway,” he laughs and lowers himself on the bed to rest between her calves. Sylvain applies the treatment along her legs, crawling up toward Ingrid's core. He begins to rub in the salve around her knees, dragging his fingers in S-shapes up over her supple thighs, brushing just adjacent to her smallclothes. Only Sylvain could turn a caretaking procedure into something that makes her yearn.

“Stop teasing me,” Ingrid says even though it feels so good and she's starting to crave more, “just apply it normally!”

“Alright,” he smiles before refocusing and actually using the treatment as intended, “Did I miss anywhere?”

Once the tingles of the initial application have subsided, Ingrid’s condition seems to have improved greatly, “Somehow you did well, I feel almost back to normal.”

“I am so happy you are comfortable with me like this, Ingrid,” Sylvain’s eyes shine with sincerity, “I feel so close to you.”

“I do too,” she admits. Ingrid finds herself reaching out toward Sylvain, threading her fingers through his hair before pulling him closer so she can taste his lips on her again. 

“Ingrid,” he says right before his mouth meets hers, “you’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

Sylvain approaches Ingrid on the bed, kneeling between her thighs. Impassioned by the kiss and his electrifying touches earlier, Ingrid extends her tongue. Sylvain immediately accepts, beginning to lick the inside of her mouth. She absolutely savors in their chaste pecks and the part of their connection they represent, but when Sylvain kisses her deeply, Ingrid can’t help but be consumed by desire. When Sylvain first palms her breast, the heat in her smallclothes nearly overtakes her consciousness. Surrounded by minty fragrance, she shivers as Sylvain tweaks her nipple gently; a bit of the salve must have remained on his fingers by the way her peak hardens at such a light touch. Ingrid moans, drawing back from their kiss, “Sylvain…” 

“Does that feel good?” Ingrid is warmed by the love in his eyes as he reaches up his other hand to pleasure her right tit, he rolls both of her nipples between a thumb and index. The entire left side of her body prickles with goosebumps from the rotation of Sylvain’s salve-coated right hand. She’s getting so, so wet from the jolts of ecstasy that shoot through her.

His tongue is in her mouth again as he continues to play with her breasts. How does he know exactly what Ingrid likes? She finds herself stroking at the black fabric of Sylvain’s trousers, aching to connect with him. 

His hand grasps her wrist, “We should wait until you’re well. The salve is only a temporary solution. I don’t want to cause you more pain.”

“Please, Sylvain, I want you,” Ingrid is throbbing within her smallclothes, she needs to feel him like she did before.

He pauses for a moment, scanning over her body, “I can’t say no to you.”

Sylvain removes Ingrid’s smallclothes with one fluid motion and she immediately feels his hand stroke over her folds, “What if…” she thinks aloud.

“Yes?”

“What if you used your other hand?” Sylvain seems to ponder what she is proposing for a moment before he starts to smirk.

“Ingrid, I didn’t realize you could be so naughty,” he reaches forward with this hand still slicked in salve curling his fingers over Ingrid's slit. She lets out a high-pitched moan as her entire body shudders from the tingling feeling that envelops her being. “is that too much?”

It probably is; he hasn’t even touched her clit yet, “It’s quite intense.”

Sylvain automatically switches to use his other hand on her, dipping beneath her folds to stroke her clit. Ingrid shakes, the heat she feels within seems amplified after he’d just touched her with the cooling substance. He slips a finger inside her, “I love how wet you get.”

For a while, Sylvain only focuses on Ingrid’s slit, seeming to enjoy watching the juices spill out of her while he thrusts his fingers inside her. She involuntarily squints her eyes, when his other hand reaches up to twist at her nipple, again sending shivers along her side. Sylvain notices her goosebumps and leans forward to lap at her neck. Ingrid is writhing now from the overwhelming stimulation and combination of temperatures; minty chill on her nipple, warm, wet tongue on her neck, so hot in her pussy as Sylvain pushes his fingers in and out of her. 

Ingrid nearly gasps when he withdraws his fingers and begins to rotate his index around her clit in a lazy figure-eight motion. Each time he brushes against her nub, Ingrid cannot stop herself from canting her hips toward Sylvain. As she feels herself getting closer, she's overcome by emotion, “Sylvain, I…”

“I love you, Ingrid,” he says before he kisses her once again. Their mouths meld together, nothing exists but the way that Sylvain makes her feel. The way he protects her. The way he’ll always be at her side.

Sylvain’s mouth lingers on hers, their tongues stroke each other as he returns two of his fingers to inside her, keeping his thumb on her clit. Ingrid shakes from the warmth she feels, inside and out.  _ I love you, Ingrid. _ The words reverberate in her mind.

Ingrid catches her breath as Sylvain withdraws from their passionate kiss, “Do you want to come?”

“Please.”

Sylvain’s hand swiftly descends from Ingrid’s nipple and she trembles as she is overtaken by the intense sensation of the salve on Sylvain’s finger in contact with her clit, while her core is so hot and wet from his other hand thrusting into her. She immediately begins to quake, moaning and trembling in front of Sylvain on her sheets as waves of pleasure roll over her.

Ingrid is breathing heavily as Sylvain kisses her on her cheek, “You’re my world.”

Sylvain readjusts Ingrid’s pillow so they can both lie down in her bed, wrapping his arms around her. Ingrid feels so loved by the way he’s taken care of her, the way he has been tender to her. How he saved her. But if he loves her why has he been so distant since their tryst?

“Sylvain,” she starts, “can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“If you feel this way, then why haven’t you tried to spend any time with me lately?”

“The way you left afterward, I just thought you needed space,” he says, “I was also confused about my own feelings. I still don’t fully understand them, I can’t say I’ve ever experienced something like this before, even with all of my relationships. What I do know is that I want to be better for you.” Ingrid can understand somewhat, after observing Sylvain’s many interactions with women, she can’t say she’s ever seen him express something like this. She had been somewhat distant herself afterwards as well, burying her nose in her favorite knight’s tales and committing to intense bouts of training with Felix helped to take her mind off of things. Ingrid is drawn back to reality when she feels Sylvain’s hand stroke her thigh, “I want to court you properly, Ingrid. When the war is over, I want to make you my wife.”

“Your what?” Ingrid isn’t sure if she heard him clearly, her heart has begun to race. Everything else Sylvain said made some sort of sense to her, but  _ marriage _ ? “Isn’t it a bit soon?”

“Soon? I’ve known you for my entire life. Who else would I marry? The professor? I’m twenty-five, that’s actually pretty old for a future margrave to not be betrothed, especially if I want to have heirs of my own. And you can’t deny it’d be advantageous for House Galatea, wouldn’t you rather marry me than one of those anonymous suitors?”

It’s all so much. Suitors? Marriage alliances? Heirs? After Glenn, Ingrid had tucked away the idea that romance would ever really happen for her and devoted herself to the life of a knight whether she had been promised to another one of her father’s chosen nobles or not. What would her life be like if she married Sylvain? Could he even be faithful to her?

“Sylvain,” Ingrid takes a deep breath, "Are you proposing to me?”

“Don’t be alarmed, you don’t need to accept right now,” he reassures her, “In fact, I don’t want you to; I want to prove myself to you, and to myself. When I saw you on the ground out there, when I felt how weak you were… My instincts kicked in and all I could do was try to rescue you. I don’t want that to ever happen again. I don't want to lose you. I want to be by your side, and I want to change for you, Ingrid. Life’s too short.”

That it is. Ingrid knows all too well. 

Maybe being courted by the man she loves wouldn’t be so bad after all of the pain. Maybe a little romance won’t hurt her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> I am becoming a huge Sylvgrid shipper after writing these two :). I promise they will bang soon lol, I kinda need them to.
> 
> My Twitter is [@fraldariuwus](https://twitter.com/fraldariuwus)
> 
> Also, if you love Sylvgrid please check out my friend's [Sylvgrid Discord server!](https://discord.gg/SnJVK9V)


End file.
